Dad—who knew nothing about the single most important thing in the lives of his wife and his daughter—called, “We’ve got to drop Pudge off at the O’Farrells and get to the airport within one hour. Unless nobody wants to go to the beach house this year!”
Cecily shook off her melancholy and zipped her suitcase shut. Time to go meet the coven.
Of course, none of the men involved knew the annual Outer Banks trips had anything to do with witchcraft. They all believed that this was a reunion of “college friends”: six women who remained very close and wanted their families to know one another. So each year they rented a couple of North Carolina beach houses within walking distance of one another and split them between the families. The trips had begun before Cecily was born, so by now the six husbands were good friends too, and they liked to say that their kids were “growing up together.” Cecily could happily have skipped the experience of growing up with Kathleen Pruitt.
“We have a coven at home,” Cecily had complained last month when she’d asked to skip the Outer Banks for one summer. “Why can’t we just spend extra time with them instead of hanging with the witches you practiced with in college? I learn more that way.”
But her mother wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted that some covens had a special energy that made it worthwhile to keep in touch and someday Cecily would understand. When Cecily tried to explain that a week with Kathleen Pruitt was like six months in hell, Mom had said she was being dramatic. (Mom might have understood if Cecily had told her about that stunt the year before, when Kathleen had loudly claimed on the beach that Cecily’s tampon string was hanging from her swimsuit, which it so was not. But Cecily could never bring herself to speak of it.) So the Outer Banks. Again.
At least they were at the beach. Cecily, who loved swimming in the sunshine, thought that was every summer’s silver lining.
Except, of course, if it was raining.
“The weather report swore this front would stay south of here,” Dad said, turning up the windshield wipers of the rental car to top speed.
Theo kicked impatiently at the back of their mother’s seat. “You said I could swim as soon as I got there. You promised.”
“I’ll bet the storm blows over soon,” Mom said soothingly.
Theo would not be consoled. “We can’t even use the Jacuzzi tub if it’s raining!”
Cecily looked at the heavy dark clouds with foreboding. What could be worse than spending a week with your worst enemy? she thought. Being trapped inside with her and your whiny little brother because of the rain. That’s worse.
Then she reminded herself of her goals not to worry about Kathleen Pruitt and to be nicer to Theo, who was only eight years old and couldn’t be expected to have any perspective. “Hey, remember the foosball table in the front room?” She poked his shoulder. “Last year, you couldn’t beat me, but you’re bigger now. You should challenge me to a rematch.”
“I guess that would be okay.” Theo sighed, still pretending to pout. But Cecily could see the gleam of mischief in his eyes. When she threw the foosball game, he’d be thrilled.
When they reached the beach house, a couple of her mother’s friends rushed out to greet them, storm or no storm. Mrs. Silverberg, Ms. Giordano—they looked so ordinary, in their mom jeans and pastel-colored polo shirts. No man alive (nor most women) would ever guess the powers they taught to their daughters. Now they shouted hellos while raindrops softened the sheets of newspaper they’d tented over their heads, and there were big hugs for everyone. Cecily tried hard to look enthusiastic, though it was difficult while she was getting drenched.
While her father grabbed most of the luggage, Cecily glanced around warily for Kathleen. One year she’d met Cecily at the car—only to hit Cecily’s bag with an itching spell. Cecily’s mother hadn’t figured out the real problem for two whole days, during which Cecily had scratched her arms so raw that swimming in the ocean was impossible.
There was no sign of Kathleen, though. Slightly relieved, Cecily tugged the last suitcase—hers—from the trunk, grimacing at the weight and wondering if she’d really needed that autoclave. Then a strong hand reached past her to clasp the handle. “Let me get that.”
Cecily glanced over her shoulder at the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen.
He had blond hair and blue eyes, so striking that she started thinking dorky things about golden sand and dark seas. He was perhaps a foot taller than Cecily, who normally preferred guys closer to her own height but felt she would make an exception in this case. His white T-shirt was rapidly becoming transparent as it got wet, which was the best reason Cecily could think of to stay outside in the rain.
“Heavy,” he said, lifting her bulging suitcase with no apparent effort. “You must have packed a lot.”
“Every year I promise myself I’ll bring less,” she confessed. “I never quite manage it.”
He smiled even more broadly. “That means you want to be prepared for anything.”
Gorgeous, polite, and understands the value of thorough preparation. I’ve got to be dreaming.
“Cecily?” Mom called from the steps of the house. “Are you two going to stand out there all day?”
“Coming!” Cecily answered. The Gorgeous Polite Guy laughed softly as he toted the bags inside.
Her sandals squished against the floor as she came into the beach house, which they were supposed to call “Ocean’s Heaven.” (All the houses at the Outer Banks had stupid beach-pun names, and they had driftwood sculptures on the walls and bedspreads with patterns of pelicans or seashells.) Cecily’s T-shirt and cropped cargos stuck to her in weird, uncomfortable folds, and her makeup had probably all been washed into the sand. What would Gorgeous Polite Guy think? Quickly she wrung out her bedraggled ponytail and parted her dripping bangs—to see Kathleen Pruitt.
“There you are,” Kathleen said. “I was just asking Mom where you could be. You look just the same!”
Drops of water from Cecily’s soaked clothing pattered onto the rug of the beach house. “Wow, thanks.”
If Kathleen noticed the sarcasm, she ignored it. Cecily would’ve liked to add a snide comment about Kathleen’s appearance in return, but unfortunately Kathleen looked great. Super-great, actually. She wasn’t that much cuter than Cecily, who in moments of hard honesty would’ve called them both “average,” but the Pruitts had a little more money to spend on clothes, makeup, and highlights for Kathleen’s hair. It made a difference, one that Kathleen didn’t let Cecily forget.
Outside, thunder boomed, suggesting Cecily was going to be stuck inside with Kathleen for a very long time.
“Kathleen’s been asking and asking about you!” said Mrs. Pruitt, who was hugging Mom. “Just couldn’t wait to catch up with her best summer bud!”
Bud. Ugh. Cecily forced a smile. “Seems like we were here only yesterday.”
“Oh, Cecily,” Kathleen singsonged as she gestured toward the bathroom. “Did you meet Scott?”
From the bathroom stepped Gorgeous Polite Guy, a.k.a. Scott. He had a towel slung around his shoulders, which he had apparently just used to dry his hair, which was now delectably tousled. Before Cecily could think about all the ways she would have liked to muss his hair for him, she saw, to her horror, that he was walking straight toward Kathleen—who snuggled against him in satisfaction.
In the background she could hear Kathleen’s mother saying, “Well, we thought Scott could room with Theo, if that’s all right with you. He’s such a nice young man—you’ll love him. His parents gave their permission so I thought why not let Kathleen bring her boyfriend?”
Boyfriend. This amazing, incredible, perfect guy is Kathleen Pruitt’s boyfriend. There is no justice. There is no God. Okay, maybe there’s a God, but justice? None.
Kathleen smiled even more broadly. “Did you bring anyone along this year, Cecily?”
Cecily would’ve shaken her head, but Theo piped up, “I tried to bring Pudge, but they wouldn’t let me. Pudge is my hamster.”
Kathleen whispered to Scott, just loud enough for Cecily to overhear, “He named it after his sister.”
Scott didn’t laugh at Kathleen’s mean little joke. He frowned, playing dumb, as though he didn’t get it, though of course he must have. No, he was too polite to laugh at something so mean. Too nice. Too good. That made the situation even worse.
Kathleen had somehow managed to get her hooks into a guy who was tall, handsome, polite, and totally non-evil. (In other words, a guy with whom she had nothing in common.) Obviously she intended to use her new relationship to make Cecily feel as small and alone as possible. And the rain was only falling harder.
It’s official, Cecily thought. I am in hell.
Part Two
SELF-IMPROVEMENT GOALS: REVISED
During this hellish week at the Outer Banks I will:
continue to be nice to Theo, and never ever once give in to the temptation to ask him about Scott, because I do not care about Scott
talk to Scott as little as possible, because I should avoid any guy who would decide to date Kathleen of his own free will
really concentrate during the coven meetings and turn this into a learning experience, because, let’s face it, as a vacation, it’s already pretty much ruined
remember that I am too good to notice the bitchery of Kathleen Pruitt, even though said bitchery is big enough to be seen from outer space
The women sat in a circle in the basement, a candle flickering in the center. Acrid fumes laced the air. Cecily was used to the smells by now, but sometimes she wondered if they couldn’t use a scented candle to make their work atmosphere a bit more pleasant. Or would any new element disturb the energy? She’d have to ask.
Mom used a thin white switch to etch the rune patterns in the mixed ashes. She had a beautiful hand for it—precise and delicate—and Cecily envied her mother’s sure touch.
Someday I’ll be that good, she promised herself.